moscow buns

In Moscow there was a frost worse than the North Pole. Wrapping themselves in coats and covering their faces so as not to freeze their nose and ears, messengers ran back and forth, stumbling over people who were still trying to sell something despite such a blizzard. Their figurines and caskets were covered with layers of snow. It fell from behind all the cracks, even under the roofs of houses, snow still comes through windows and chimneys. People in expensively decorated clothes were also darting back and forth, which still did not save them from suddenly falling icicles or slipping on the ice. Even despite the bright light of the garlands pouring from all sides, which had not yet begun to be cleaned after the New Year and all attempts to look at his feet as much as possible, Benedikt still almost lost his balance, abruptly turning the corner. All his blond hair was more like snowdrifts, his cheeks hurt because of how hard the frost hit everyone who forgot their hats and scarves at home without looking out the window before going out. Going on his little adventure to the nearest bakery, Benedikt also did not really think about how much he would get hurt on the way, so suddenly he had the idea to please Marshall with something. Seeing how, either from madness or to make the child sitting next to him laugh, he tries paint directly from the brush, Benedikt remembered the calls of some old woman to try their new pastries. Marshall didn't even notice how the bright head slipped out into the street, quickly putting on a coat and barely grabbing gloves. It seemed to Benedikt that the buns he had collected would be enough for a whole week, but he simply could not decide. It turned out there were so many things that Marshall liked and he himself could not resist. One could only hope that he would not prefer bitter paint to delicious freshly baked buns. Almost knocking someone down so much with a sharp turn and hastily apologizing, Benedikt hurried to the house, brightly decorated with tinsel and an improvised branch of a Christmas tree from which toys hung glittering. They decorated this porch themselves, dragging a ladder helpfully borrowed from neighbors from above and resorting to searching for everything New Year's in their stocks that were sent by Roma and, most likely, were corrected by Juliette because Marshall found cut holes in the form of knives on the back of the Christmas tree toys. Benedikt doubted whether his cousin checked the gifts before sending them, and his wife got away with such a trick. The light was still visible through the large windows, although the other part was plunged into darkness. The children have already gone home, and Marshall is probably collecting easels right now, closing the jars and pouring out dirty water. He should have gone and helped him... “Do you know why I can easily recognize you now on the street, nae sarang?” two hands came down on Benedikt's shoulders, squeezing tightly. He whirled around. A light laugh was heard. “Because my back cannot be confused with any other?” “Because you are the only one who goes without a hat in such a cold”, Marshall removed the snowflakes from his hair and began to wrap his husband's head with a scarf. “But that too.” “I like challenges. Maybe.” “Just not the ones where you need to freeze your ears in twenty-four hours. What have you got there?” Marshall had already snatched the package from him and almost completely stuck his head in there, sniffing. Benediktt stared at him in surprise, worried that his surprise seemed to have been discovered ahead of time and the Marshall smiled smugly, pulling out a bun and rustling a small bag in which the bun was wrapped for the whole street. “Did you bake buns somewhere while I wasn't looking?” Marshall's happy and bright smile cut Benedikt to the heart. Wasn't it worth it to run through the storm to see the happiness of the person most dear to him in the world? Sniffing with a red nose and not paying attention to his frozen feet, Benedikt thought that yes. Half listening to Marshall's comments about the filling of the bun, he rummaged in the bag, panicking remembering where he could put it. “Here!” Benedikt fished out a piece of paper from under a mountain of buns and handed it to Marshall, cutting him off in mid-sentence. He raised an eyebrow and exchanged the half-eaten bun for a strange piece of paper and began to read. “What is this?” “Something like discount coupons or something. Go there yourself sometime. It seems that you can therefore get one thing for free there. Maybe you'll bring free tea or sugar bags from there instead,” Benedikt shrugged his shoulders, although he had to pretend that he had a wife and a big family so that the woman behind the counter kindly handed him this and told him to come back again. Marshall put the paper in his coat pocket and pointed to the bun. “Listen, try it yourself and tell me what it's made of. I feel like I swallowed a whole jar of gouache.” Benedikt raised his eyebrows thoughtfully in response, wondering by what miracle he managed to try thick paint as well. While he was trying to take a bite, his husband had already pulled him back into the house. Juggling a bag, a bakery product and a scarf almost falling off his head in his hands, Benedikt ran up the stairs, trying to keep up with Marshall's dark crown. The scarf still fell, sprawling on the threshold. The house smelled pleasantly of jam again and the smell of winter, which no longer frightened, but on the contrary made the whole familiar atmosphere more cozy. Jam smelled for a long time because grandma of one of the children who came to study with them often brought them whole jars, saying that it was homemade and healthy. Benedikt could not refuse, especially since Marshall almost ate it alone, always spreading on bread, cookies and even eating with tea. “No, it still seems to me that it's a blackberry, throwing everything that was in his hands on the floor,” Benedikt said. Marshall snorted softly from the tub and poked his head out curiously from behind the opening. “And what else is there?” Benedikt, sorting everything from the bakery, putting the kettle on with his other hand, answered: “With apples, strawberries, raspberries, it seems even with a poppy…” He glanced quickly at Marshall, who narrowed his eyes jokingly. “Don't even think about eating everything with a poppy. Leave it to me, for the first time in my life I took buns from a Moscow bakery and my cruel husband is not going to leave me a piece. Why are you looking at me like that, you sly one?” Marshall chuckled as he opened the water and checked to see if there was any hot water to warm his fingers. Dipping his palms into the water and feeling a pleasant tingling sensation, he looked through the living room window where even the frost formed something insanely similar to that beloved person rattling cups in the kitchen, writing out all his drawings, every stroke left on the canvas in the corner of a large room. Two snowflakes each time, flying by, added eyes to the facial features, as if winking. Marshall shook his head. “Are you going or would you rather stick your head in the sink as well?” Benedikt asked loudly to the clang of the cabinet doors that he opened one by one in search of something. Seo pulled his hands out of the water and the spray flew in all directions. “A little more and I would have flooded our bath,” Marshall said, approaching Benedikt. “That's all we needed,” he grumbled, but he didn't tear himself away from opening the cabinets and was still trying to find something. Waiting for someone to finally ask him for help, Marshall walked to the corridor. His husband left Seo's scarf on the floor, barely throwing his coat on the hanger by the door. He shook off both coats from the snow, which was already almost thawed and dripping onto the rug. He picked up the unwound piece of cloth, also shook off the ice from this and stubbornly headed back. “Damn,” Benedikt was ready to grab his head, “you didn't see…” Something cold, soft and so familiar wrapped around his neck. Marshall pulled him closer, twisting the scarf back and kissing him. “Salt,” Montagov whispered into his husband's lips. Somewhere out there, as if in another house, a kettle whistled. Or maybe it was a train departing from the Leningradsky train station somewhere far away. Maybe one day they will go somewhere far away again. Or maybe tomorrow they will go to the Red Square, grabbing buns, they will fight for the most delicious and in the end they will divide it exactly in half. Or they'll probably go to the ice rink and pick each other up until someone falls into a snowdrift. Marshall will throw a snowball to Benedikt and run away from him for a long time. And then someone will still pin the other to the wall in the alley into which they are turned just for fun. And until they need to open their drawing school, there will be kisses in the early morning.